by Skye Warren
“Fuck, baby. Fuck.”
She sucked him eagerly, pulling him in, and his hips moved forward of their own accord. He found his way inside with small, nudging thrusts, tunneling his way into the incredible warmth. It wasn’t enough. She was still tugging on him, her suction a small, feminine plea.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want more?”
With her lips wrapped around his cock, she nodded.
He tapped her cheek. “I’m not sure there’s room in your sweet mouth.”
She moaned in entreaty.
Shifting his stance over the couch, he pushed in farther, using more control now that he was going deep. Her eyes widened, but he kept going. Kept filling her until he felt the resistance at the back of her throat. He heard her deep breaths, the evidence of her focus. He moved to pull out, but she grasped the back of his thighs, her palms slippery from her perspiration and his. He rocked himself right there, holding the position far inside, his eyes rolling back at the sensation along his dick. Sparks of pleasure ran down his spine and into the base of his cock, but he wrenched himself away from her wet heat.
Now.
She was limp in his arms as he lifted her. He settled her over the arm of the couch so that her hands and face could rest on the seat cushion and her ass was exposed to him. She had less control this way, so when he touched two fingers to her swollen pussy, she cried out but didn’t move. Could hardly push back against him at all, her toes digging into the plush carpet beneath them. The sight of her was breathtaking—glistening folds all open for him. Plump and wet and ready for him.
He retrieved the wineglass and set the curved lip right at the base of her ass, sending rivulets of liquid over the puckered hole and down the valley of her sex. The liquid looked black against the leather beneath her pussy. A few dark drops landed on the carpet, but he didn’t give a shit. He leaned in. The first taste of her was wine alone before the undertones of her flavor peeked through. Her moans were a sensual accompaniment to the meal he made of her. His cock throbbed, desperate to replace his tongue, but he ignored it. He licked and sucked at her until every trace of the savory drink was gone and he was drawing more liquid from inside her.
His balls were drawn up tight, his cock aching. He stood and leaned over her, brushing the hair from her face.
“You ready, sweetheart?”
She whimpered.
He plunged inside her, swift and deep. Her cry was muffled by the leather. Driven and desperate, he pulled back before pushing inside. All his control evaporated, his mercy for her missing in action. He could only fuck her as hard as he needed to and hope she could take it.
She sobbed gently, her hands clenching at nothing beside her head. He changed his angle, pushing down where he knew she needed it. She came with a keening cry and a rush of warmth around his cock. Again. He didn’t let up, didn’t slow or change a goddamned thing—just let her climb the peak until she came with a broken sound and more liquid, more heat. He wanted to drain her, to use her up, to fuck her so long and so hard that she would never leave.
He spread the soft cheeks of her ass apart, admiring the view. The bud of her asshole, her lips open for him. Every part of you. He felt his hands clench, and he forced them to relax. He shut his eyes and let himself go, lost himself in the tight squeeze of her pussy, drowning in the helpless sounds she made. Her orgasm clamped down around his cock, and he froze, crying out hoarsely as he emptied himself inside her, as he gave it all to her. Every part of me.
He panted over her back, shuddering at the clenching aftershocks. With regret, he withdrew from her body and helped her up. He pulled her down onto the couch, cradling her body with his own while she caught her breath.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Didn’t go too far?”
She sounded drugged. “Let’s do it like that every time.”
His lips curved into a smile in the moments before sleep dragged him under.
CHAPTER THREE
Erin set her chin on Blake’s chest, enjoying the coarse male hairs that tickled her and the fresh soap-musk scent of him. At some point since dinner, he had gently woken her. They’d stumbled into the bathroom before crashing into bed, together again.
It was time, though. Time to broach the subject that could end this. End her.
“You nervous?” she asked, referring to his upcoming teaching stint in the vaguest way possible.
He kept his eyes closed, but the restless shift of his limbs gave him away. “Why? Should I be?”
No, but she was. She believed he’d be amazing as a professor, and whatever happened with her class, she would deal. But this teaching job was his first step in the direction of living again. She wouldn’t take that away from him. Wouldn’t even risk it with her presence.
“You don’t have to go through with it. If you don’t want to.”
He opened his eyes then. His expression was guarded. “No one will know we’re together,” he said flatly. “You don’t have to worry that people would judge you for…”
Her stomach clenched. For sleeping with him, because he had scars on his face.
She turned into his chest so he wouldn’t see the flash of emotion that caught her off-guard. Her heart broke a little every time he put himself down like that. And yet he had valid reasons to believe the world would care about how he looked…because the world did care. Because his fiancée had broken up with him, because his parents had mourned him as if he had died instead of lived. Because his entire career following his father’s footsteps as a senator had detonated before it even began. The world cared, and she wouldn’t lie to him.
“You know I’m not ashamed of you.” Her voice was muffled. It would be better to look him in the eye as she said it, but he might misread the sympathy there as pity. He’d already had his pride stripped from him. She’d never take what he had left.
“I’m a bad choice for you in every way, Erin, but damned if I’m going to leave you alone.”
She looked up again, feeling a sad smile touch her face. “I have to tell you something. I’m not going to graduate this semester.”
His face darkened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
When he looked angry, the mangled skin stayed frozen while the other side of his face lowered. A strange effect but an apt analogy, because part of him was frozen in that place of pain and grief while the rest of him struggled to move on.
She stroked his temple—the smooth one, because the other would just make him self-conscious. “It’s just not the right time. One more semester won’t kill me.”
He reined in his surprise. “Okay, explain it to me. What’s not right about this time?”
“I won’t have enough for tuition, for one thing. I usually do the installment plan, but I can’t count on having enough this time.” She paused, bracing herself. “Since I can’t work here anymore.”
He was silent a moment. Even when he spoke, his voice was deceptively quiet. “We’ve talked about this.”
“Yes, we did. You said it was okay to keep working here…and I disagree.”
“What’s to disagree with? You cleaned my house before we started anything. It’s not like the employment is contingent on you sleeping with me. I’ve never given you any trouble, have I? Never complained about your work.”
“That’s exactly it. Would you complain if you needed to, knowing that it would interfere with our relationship?”
He rolled his eyes. “This conversation is…it’s driving me crazy. I don’t want you to work for me, Erin. I want you to move in with me. Let me cover your last semester’s tuition. It’s not a big deal.”
She stared at him in shock. They’d never discussed her living here. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine. The beautiful, comfortable home she could come back to at the end of a school day. Reading outside on the deck, watching the wooded land behind where deer were occasionally spotted. Climbing into bed with him every night.
God, she wanted that so much. But not like this.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not okay for you to take care of me this way. Once I’ve graduated and I have a regular job, then I’ll consider moving in. And paying for my share of things.”
“Jesus, Erin.”
“That’s not unreasonable. That’s how people do things.”
He shook his head. “I’m not your mother’s employer. I’m not going to try and take advantage of you.”
She jerked back, removing herself from him, allowing the air between them to cool her. “That’s not fair. This isn’t about her.”
Though her mother had also cleaned houses and something bad had gone down with one of her customers. One day her mother had been abruptly fired and come home with red-rimmed eyes and bruises on her wrists. So maybe this was about her mother, just a little. That man had taken advantage of his position in a way that Blake never would, but she wasn’t totally comfortable with living under a man’s control.
Their relationship was already uneven, but not in the ways that he thought about. Not because she was beautiful and he was scarred. Instead, he was older and she was younger. He came from a wealthy family while she’d recited a number in the school lunch line. He was smart and accomplished—even if he currently lived in reclusion—and she was just another grad student. Paying her own way with him was important. So even when he sat up and took her hands in his, she fortified herself.
“Be with me,” he said with a soft, pleading note in his voice, and she almost, almost broke at that. What more could she want than to be with him? No money or school or frowning disapproval of society to block them.
“I don’t care how we work it out. I don’t care about the money. Take it, I’ll sign it all over to you. You’ll own the house, and I can live here at your mercy.”
She did smile then, at the silly idea of that. Of her as some heiress and him bowing at her feet. Yes, silly but also sweet, because she believed he really didn’t care. But as much as she loved him, as much as she knew he did understand tragedy in this world, she knew that only the rich thought money didn’t matter. He’d never had to urge his mother to call the cops only to have her mother explain that if she made a fuss, any other jobs in town would go away. Even if he would never abuse it, she couldn’t give him that kind of power over her.
“There’s another reason I can’t graduate this semester.”
“Tell me.” He squeezed her hands in his, comforting her even as she pushed him away.
“Remember I told you I needed one classes aside from my thesis?” When he nodded, she continued, “Well, one of them didn’t have a professor listed when I enrolled. It’s happened before. Sometimes things aren’t finalized early on and they fill it in later. So when I went to the bookstore, I saw they’d filled in the name of the professor. Someone new.”
He stared at her. “Shit.”
“Yeah. It was you. I guess it makes sense…a senior level discussion course. I should have put it together sooner, but I thought you were going to teach history.”
He shook his head. “I’ll quit.”
“You can’t! You said yourself they need you to teach this course. If they have to cancel it, I still won’t be able to graduate this semester and neither will the other students taking it.”
“Shit,” he repeated.
At that, she smiled. He didn’t swear too often, so she knew he was almost speechless for him to do it twice in a row. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m just happy you’re going out there, finding your rightful place. That’s more important than the exact date I graduate.”
“It’s more than that, Erin. You’ve worked so much for this. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked, both studying and cleaning my house so you can afford tuition.”
“I can wait.”
“And what are we going to do, put our relationship on hold for a year so you can graduate and pay your way with me? No,” he said as if that decided it, and maybe it did. He was forceful that way, and she was…well, she was so disappointed not to graduate on time.
“You know it’s not allowed.”
He shrugged. “Probably not, but we already decided not to tell anyone. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I’m surprised you’d be okay with this.”
“I’m not comfortable with it. But I’m committed to do this, and I’m sure as hell not going to let you put your life on hold for my sake. The rules are designed to protect people from being harassed, but that’s not the case here.”
A grin tipped her lips. “You don’t feel even a little harassed? I mean, I did have sex with you in your office.”
He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. His lips moved against her as he murmured, “Now that can’t happen again.”
“Reason enough for us to call this whole thing off. Because that was crazy hot.”
He rolled them over so that he straddled her. Her hands were pinned by his, her body trapped. And God, her sex tightened.
“I think I can find a substitute,” he muttered, sliding down and spreading her legs wide.
“Oh God,” she gasped. Then she gathered herself enough to purr, “Oh, Professor Morris.”
He groaned. “You can’t call me that in the classroom or I’ll…”
“Or you’ll what?”
“You might not like what happens.” He set his lips to her sex and proceeded to make her like it very much indeed. She flung her head against the pillow, submerged with the pleasure, out of breath with it until all she could chant was his name. No games and no barriers. Oh, Blake.
She loved what happened with him. Every time, every way. On the outside he was a somber man, dark and serious. Brooding. All he needed was a fire-charred manor or windy cliffs to complete the picture. But the man within was so very different…so much lighter. He played with her, he laughed. He teased her to the brink of endurance and then gave her more than she’d imagined.
Even now he found a way to make this new. His tongue against her clit—as if it could ever get old. But this wasn’t like the time before or the one before that. He nipped at the inside of her thighs and then soothed her with a luscious lick to her reddened skin. He swiped at the slick lips of her sex—so quickly she’d think he hadn’t done it at all, until the shock and pleasure ran up her spine.
“No more teasing,” she gasped.
“Are you sure? I think you like the teasing.”
“I can’t. I can’t.”
Two fingers inside her, homed directly on the spot, and it was too much. Far too much, so she arched herself up, crying out, “Wait. Stop.”
“Well, which is it? Should I stop or make you come?”
“Please, Blake.”
She heard his breath catch. When he spoke, his voice had fallen two octaves. “Yes. Again.”
“Blake.” Her mind was a blur, at the center of a tornado and watching the storm swirl around her. She couldn’t have moved, and God, she didn’t want to. He was the calm and the storm all at once, both peaceful and tragic, both beautiful in their own way. “Please.”
“Say it again,” he said, and she couldn’t remember what he wanted.
“More. Yes,” she babbled. “Blake.”
He pushed her knees up and back with both hands. “Say Please, Blake.”
She was unable to move like this, with her bent legs tucked against her chest, bound by the tight constraints of her own body and his unyielding hands on her knees.
“Please.” She swallowed. “Blake.”
“Again.”
She sobbed softly. “Please, Blake.”
Without removing his hands from her legs, he lined up his cock. The head felt impossibly broad and she so exposed. In a smooth thrust, he pushed inside. He gave her exactly what she wanted, as he always would. Whether in bed or in life, whether her body or her heart, she could always trust in him to fulfill her. It poured into her, his love and admiration, leaving only a little room for doubts. A very small pla
ce where she hoped she was doing the same good for him.
* * *
Blake looked over his lecture notes. Again. He already knew the outline forwards and backwards. He could theorize and expound for hours on every point listed—and had done so, in email exchanges and phone calls with old friends and a few new ones in his seclusion since the explosion. He knew the nuances of the material, he felt passionately about the real-life impact. In Erin’s slang, he had this on lock.
But he couldn’t shake the disquiet. That fear he was making a mistake. The fear that it would all blow up in his face, though that had already happened—literally. What could be worse than the pain of first-degree burns and losing his teammates in a single blast? Of having his fiancée break things off when he returned home and losing the ability to follow in his father’s footsteps as a senator?
All he had to do now was stand in front of thirty grad students and ignore the way their gazes would nervously dart away from his face. The small classroom had a single large table with chairs gathered around and cluttered into the corners. A desk was at the front, but the whole effect was intimate. Perfect for the discussions that were common in advanced graduate classes. A little too close for comfort, considering.
Maybe his nerves had more to do with a certain student in particular.
God, Erin. He was crazy about her. She needed this class and he needed this job—this chance to re-enter society on a temporary, part-time basis. He’d looked up the university bylaws to be certain, and surprisingly there was no specific language forbidding it. Still, he assumed the clause on professional behavior would preclude everything he did to her sweet body each night. And again, the next morning.
Fuck.
He should quit. Confess a conflict of interest to the dean and walk out. And leave them hanging with no one to teach this course… It was professional suicide. He’d get blacklisted from every university in the country. Not to mention all the students whose schedules and graduation plans would go haywire if this class fell through. Including Erin. But if something went wrong…
